


History

by bobbysghost



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, I love metal arms, Porn With Plot, Read at Your Own Risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbysghost/pseuds/bobbysghost
Summary: Bucky enjoys going to the museum because of you.WARNING: Smut
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 89





	History

**Author's Note:**

> I really have one reader character who I rewrite 29484 times. Enjoy another Bucky reader insert, this time with S M U T. This has been in my drafts for ages so apologies for any mistakes I've barely proofread it. Warnings apply.

Bucky had visited the museum every day since he’d escaped.

It was a source of comfort. He didn’t know anything about the new world he now lived in – he only knew of the past. The numerous exhibitions of the 40’s brought a sense of nostalgia, however fuzzy. Bucky’s head pained him every other hour of the day, except the few he spent at the Gallery.

Although the many incorrect facts made him laugh, it wasn’t simply his era that intrigued Bucky; the frightful tales of everything he had missed whilst he was ‘under’ both terrified and interested him, so he was never lost for knowledge in the walls of the building.

However, sometimes the history wasn’t the only thing Bucky focused on.

It was her.

She visited the museum almost as much as he did – she was there virtually every day. She floated around the exhibitions with an air of curiosity, and Bucky’s eyes were drawn to her rather than the facts written on the walls.

The girl was particularly attracted to the 1920’s display. Bucky noticed she’d spend hours poring over the photos of flapper girls, Model T Fords, and Charlie Chaplain. He even observed the tiny sketchbook and pencil she kept on her. Her fascinated eyes would dart from photo to her sketch, a focused bite to her perfect lip. She reminded Bucky of Steve, and it felt like home.

Sometimes he imagined her eyes darted to him as she drew, but he could never be sure – he tended to avoid eye contact these days.

Bucky had been fantasising about talking to the girl for months, but what would he say? Would he come off as a stalker? She most likely didn’t even know he existed – and for good reason. How could he start a conversation with such a beautiful being when he was so... ugly?

The day was a depressing one. Fat, grey clouds littered the skies, heavy with freezing rain – the type of rain which soaked complete through clothing. Bucky was dripping when he stepped into the entrance hall of the museum; his hair stuck to his face like a wet dog. He let out a breath when he felt the familiar warmth of the room hug around him, and a hint of a smile ghosted over his face.

Bucky heard a high, tinkling laugh from behind him, and he turned with disbelieving eyes. The girl was stood behind him, a sopping, broken, green umbrella in her hand. Her long, [Y/H/C] hair was plastered onto her cheeks in swirling patterns, and droplets of rain fell from her long eyelashes like tears. Despite the false sadness, her lips were curved up into a joyful smile. She looked up at Bucky, and a small blush appeared on her cheeks as she gestured to his doused appearance.

“Guess the rain caught you too, huh?”

Her voice rang out like melodic church bells in his ears, and everything seemed to blur when she spoke to him. He could do nothing but nod stupidly. She offered him one last smile, before disappearing into the direction of her favourite exhibition.

Bucky stared after her, the wetness surrounding him forgotten as his mind was filled with images of the girl’s smile and the sound of her words. He grinned slightly, before beginning to follow her through the walls of the museum.

* * *

[Y/N] cursed herself, a furious pink tinge warming her face and neck in embarrassment. She’d been working up the courage to talk to the mysterious handsome man for weeks, and the only thing she could think of to say was about the weather. Stupid.

She looked up at the numerous photos of the women from the 1920s, sighing as she took them in. How they radiated confidence, all smiles and fluttering dresses. [Y/N] found them utterly fascinating. They wouldn’t think twice about talking to attractive strangers.

Pushing her frizzy, damp hair back from her face, [Y/N] spied the man in question at his own favoured display. He was extraordinary; soft chin length hair surrounding bright eyes, stubble that danced along a strong jaw when clenched; and a bearing of secrecy. [Y/N] had noticed she had never seen his hands. Was it creepy that she knew that?

She looked down at the notebook in her hand, scribbles of the man with dark hair covering each page. She had other muses – the elderly woman who visited weekly with her husband, the young student who wrote research papers in the library – but neither took up as much paper as the stranger did.

[Y/N] was currently sketching another portrait of him, focusing on his scruffy cap and rain-dampened hair. She kept stealing glances at him, a smile appearing on her face as she saw how invested he was with the exhibition. He looked in her direction a few times, but [Y/N] avoided his gaze, the last thing she wanted was him to take offense to her drawings and stop coming.

The rain continued to pelt down against the large windows of the museum, causing the building to darken quicker than expected – the winter months gave no sunlight in the first place. The darkness restricted [Y/N] from seeing her sketchbook, and she quickly gave up with the drawing, deciding to complete it the next day. The stranger had left a few moments prior, so she was sketching from memory anyway.

[Y/N] checked her phone; 5:45 pm. She had just enough time to check out the new World War 2 exhibition before the museum closed.

[Y/N] was the only person in the gallery when she entered. The display included a large collection of Nazi propaganda, a dirty late 30s motorbike, and a showing on War Heroes on one of the screens. [Y/N] sat comfortably down on one of the couches and slipped on the provided headphones, starting to watch the show.

The familiar photograph of the Howling Commandos filled the screen, and the voice from the headphone went through each member. Of course, everybody knew about Captain America and what his team did in the war. It was even a part of [Y/N]’s history degree.

[Y/N]’s eyes frowned when the documentary turned onto Sergeant James Barnes. She’d studied him before, but seeing him after these years sent an unfamiliar twang of recognition through her... almost like she knew him. After staring at his smiling face for a moment, she shrugged, assuming she just remembered him from her school days.

She stayed throughout the documentary, enthralled at the historical fact within it. The time passed without a thought, and the room became darker and quiet. When the playback returned to the beginning, [Y/N] slipped off the headphones, suddenly aware of the absence of light in the room. She quickly collected her things, cursing when she found her own phone dead and quickly headed out of the exhibition.

[Y/N] shivered at the cold, empty halls. It was pitch black, the only light from the streetlamps outside – even that was filtered through the thick, battering rain. She wondered through the corridor to the exit, unnerved by the lack of people in the museum.

Nearing the door, [Y/N] let out a small sigh of relief when she reached it. She tugged to leave, only to find it wouldn’t budge. She tried again. It still wouldn’t move.

She pushed. Nothing.

“Come on.” [Y/N] whined, dread filling her stomach. The door refused to behave, and she gave up with a weak sigh. She was locked in the museum, seemingly alone.

She dropped her bag by her foot, glaring at the entrance. “Fuck.”

* * *

Bucky’s heart was beating faster than it had ever beaten before. He was locked in the museum, after he idiotically spent too long fawning over the girl. He cursed himself out at his stupidity – at least she hadn’t noticed him leave the World War 2 exhibition before she did.

Normally, Bucky would’ve just smashed his way out of the building, but this time it was different. The museum had become a second home to him – somewhere safe he could go. He also knew how much it meant to the strange girl. It would hurt her to see the building vandalised, so he refrained from hurting it.

Bucky watched from a dark entryway as the girl tried the door. The worry on her face made her look even prettier than usual, and her uttered profanity made his heart skip a beat. He imagined her stuttering the word from under him as he made her writhe, using his fingers; his tongue; his...

He blinked, snapping himself out of the trance.

She stomped her foot angrily, before tightening her grip on her bag and heading towards the cafe. Bucky watched her beadily, before heading after her. Soon, his assassin instincts kicked in, and his footsteps and breathing were silent. There was no way she could hear him.

He followed her to the coffee shop. Bucky wondered how to start a conversation – it wasn’t your average situation. He could go the funny route – ‘Hey, we’re both stuck in this museum together until eight in the morning, how hilarious!’, but he thought it may be clouded by how he had just practically stalked her.

Bucky watched as the girl took a sandwich, a bottle of water, and a muffin from the counter, before reaching into her bag and pulling out her purse – she popped a couple of dollars on the side. Before he could stop himself, the words were already tumbling out of his mouth.

“You could just steal it, you know?”

The effect was immediate. The stranger dropped her goods with a yelp, turning to face him with wide eyes. Her bag spilt when it hit the floor; pens, crumpled receipts, and her sketchbook scattered on the floor, and she knelt to collect her belongings. Bucky suddenly felt bad for scaring her, and quickly went to help her, apologising profusely.

He picked up her sketchbook, which had fallen open onto one page of a portrait. Bucky’s eyes only got to scan it before it was snatched out of his hands and shoved hurriedly away. He looked over at the girl, who was blushing hard and avoiding his eyes.

“My...” He paused slightly. “My name’s Sorry – Bucky – shit.” He shook his head, before taking a breath. “I’m Bucky.” Bucky held out his hand for her to shake. She looked at it suspiciously, before encasing his fingers with her significantly smaller ones.

“[Y/N].” She mumbled, standing up and dusting herself off. Her name swirled inside Bucky’s head, and danced over his tongue as he spoke it. It was perfect. “And I’m not about to steal some food, though I might have to replace my muffin.” She looked down at her dishevelled snack forlornly.

Bucky swallowed, before pulling out his own wallet and exchanging a new muffin for some change. “Here, an apology.”

Her smile was glorious, and Bucky wished to see it every day for the rest of his life.

They collected the rest of [Y/N]’s things, before they awkwardly stood together. “Where do we go now?” Bucky asked, shifting in his boots.

“I was going to head to the galleries. They have couches in there, so...” [Y/N] trailed off. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Bucky smiled gratefully, and they headed in the direction of the art room. The silence between them was delicate – Bucky felt like he shouldn’t break it. He reserved himself to just looking at [Y/N]. Being this close to her was a spectacle. He could see the freckles that dotted her skin; the piercings in her ear, and the colour of her eyes. They were gorgeous, he decided.

[Y/N] was observing Bucky, albeit more obviously. She was in two minds. She was sure she recognised him from somewhere, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. On the other hand, he was as handsome up close as he was from far away. He had scars dotting around his face, and [Y/N] made a mental note to add them to her sketches. His jaw was structured, strong and delectably kissable, as were his pouted lips. She forgave him for creeping up on her.

The two mirrored each other’s thoughts; they both marvelled in the coincidence that they were trapped together. It was a blessing in disguise, they determined silently.

The gallery was dark, so [Y/N] used her phone to bring some more light into the room. The two settled on one of the couches, and [Y/N] offered Bucky her half of her sandwich. He declined, used to not having food, and wanting her to be full.

[Y/N] chewed thoughtfully. “You come here every day, don’t you?” She asked after swallowing.

“So do you.” Bucky said softly, blushing at being caught.

“Why?” [Y/N] looked up at him innocently. He stayed quiet, until she said again. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

Bucky shifted, obviously not about to spout the truth. ‘ _I come to this museum every day specifically to look at you and remember the era I was forcibly taken from’_ sounded just a tad strange. He opted for a good old lie, “I’m just... really interested in history. Bit embarrassed by it.”

[Y/N] nodded, seeming to buy his shitty lie. “Ditto. I did a history degree, so you’re talking to a girl with a Bachelor of Arts.” She shot him a grin, and Bucky felt like he would melt.

They sunk into a comfortable conversation as [Y/N] ate. Bucky asked tentative questions about her studies, and what areas of history she liked; [Y/N] delved into trying to find out as much about the man in front of her as she could. She noticed his hands were gloved, and she frowned slightly.

“Aren’t your hands hot?”

Bucky looked down, blushing slightly. He had hoped she hadn’t noticed, but she was more observant than he thought. He shrugged slightly. “Force of habit.”

Her curious eyes bored into him, and he bit his lip. Bucky somehow felt comfortable enough around [Y/N] to take off his coverings. He pulled off one glove, revealing his human hand, before gently tugging off the other. His metal fingers glinted in the light as he moved them softly.

[Y/N] had never seen anything quite so exquisite. It worked better than any prosthetic limb she had seen – and the moonlight that retracted off it was almost blinding in the limited light they had.

“It’s beautiful.” She murmured, her own fingers hesitantly inching towards his. Bucky closed the gap between them, and gently stroked over her hand. The coolness of the metal made [Y/N] shiver, and Bucky grinned nervously.

After a moment’s pause, [Y/N] pushed up Bucky’s coat to his elbow. Her eyebrows rose as she realised it was an arm, not just a hand. “How far...?”

Bucky shrugged off his coat without hesitating, the short sleeve shirt showing the arm off perfectly. He tugged down the neckline, allowing [Y/N] to see where the metal met skin. She frowned at the jagged mess of scar tissue, her own finger reaching out to trace it. Bucky fought the urge to flinch away, instead forcing himself to feel her skin against his. It was a bittersweet moment.

“What happened?” [Y/N] asked quietly. Bucky looked back down, coughing slightly as she pulled her hand away.

“Train... accident.”

[Y/N] nodded, before she slipped off her own coat. Bucky watched in confusion as she started to tug up her shirt.

“What-?”

She pulled the shirt over her head, and Bucky felt his own eyes widen at the sight of her bra. Her skin was scarred over her chest, as if she had been burnt in a fire. His own hand reached out, and [Y/N] pressed it against her. Bucky rubbed his thumb gently over the disfigured skin, biting his own lip.

After a moment of silence, [Y/N] spoke softly. “My father poured gasoline over me when I was four months old. He couldn’t take my screaming, so he lit a match.”

Bucky retracted his hand, his eyes widening in surprise. He couldn’t believe the words that came from her mouth. He swallowed, tugging down his own sleeve. He left his glove off.

“That’s terrible. Really, I’m sorry.” He felt awkward, and he didn’t really know what to say. He watched as she pulled her top back down. Her scarring didn’t make her any less beautiful in his mind.

[Y/N] shrugged, her smile easy. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I just wanted to show you that you’re not the only… different one.”

The two continued to talk through the night, now more comfortable with each other than before. [Y/N] spoke about her love for history, how her apartment was only a short walk from the museum, and this was the first place she had visited when she had moved to the city. Bucky didn’t do much talking, preferring to listen to her velvet voice. He took in her beauty as she spoke, her features already burned into his memory.

The night slowly dragged on, and both Bucky and [Y/N] felt sleep calling to them. [Y/N] succumbed first, Bucky’s coat wrapped around her as a blanket, and her head leaning against Bucky’s metal shoulder. It must’ve been uncomfortable, but he didn’t have the heart to move her. Sleep finally took over Bucky’s brain, and he felt safer than he had in a long while.

* * *

[Y/N] was jolted awake by the blabbering of the man next to her. She roused herself, sleep still clogging her brain before she could register what Bucky was muttering.

“Стоп.” He said fretfully, his head twitching as balls of sweat rolled down his forehead. “Не трогайте ее.” 

[Y/N] didn’t understand a word Bucky was saying, but she knew it wasn’t good. He clenched his fists, the metal fingers grinding against each other. "Нет! я убью тебя.”

“Bucky...” [Y/N] placed her hand on his arm, feeling the machinery whirl under her fingers. She gently shook him, and said firmly, “Bucky!” 

The tiny movement caused Bucky to bolt up, his chest rising and falling with each desperate breath. His eyes were large, a mixture of terror and anger. [Y/N]’s instinct told her to run, but she ignored it. Bucky needed her help. 

He looked at her with a disbelieving expression. “[Y/N]?” 

“Are you okay?” [Y/N] asked, her hand trailing down Bucky’s arm to rest in his, their fingers absentmindedly intertwining. 

Bucky took a shuddering breath, before nodding with a swallow. “Yeah. Nightmare.” 

[Y/N] could tell he was shaken; whatever nightmare he had, it wasn’t an average one. She mirrored him from earlier, and shrugged of the borrowed coat. [Y/N] wrapped it around Bucky’s shoulders as best she could. 

“You want to talk about it?” 

Bucky stayed quiet for a moment, weighing up his options. He could either lie, and avoid the subject like his arm, or tell the truth, and perhaps putting the girl in front of him at risk.

“I-I was in the military... it was flashbacks. PTSD.” He said softly. Bucky avoided [Y/N]’s gaze, instead focusing on the softness of her skin in his hand. He technically didn’t lie, but he still felt the twisted guilt. 

[Y/N] blinked, and suddenly it made sense to her. The interest in the history, the hardness in his eyes, the feeling of isolation that surrounded him – he was a military man through and through. Her heart ached for him, and she looked up at him sorrowfully. 

“Thank you for your service.” [Y/N] couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“Don’t thank me.” Bucky said bitterly. “I killed people.” 

[Y/N] shook her head at his pained words. “You were following orders. It doesn’t make you a bad person.” 

Bucky sighed, looking down at the girl next to him. He watched as she offered him a small smile, and felt her small thumbs rub against his. She didn’t realise how much that meant to him. She didn’t realise how much _she_ meant to him. 

He hesitated for merely a second before he kissed her.

The kiss was fuelled with longing and tasted of desperation. Bucky clung to [Y/N] with his metal hand, making sure she was pressed up tight against him. [Y/N] replicated his movements by pushing Bucky’s cap off and finally tangling her fingers into that long hair – she had been fantasising about doing it for weeks. The two cut for a breath, gasping as they each pulled away.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asked, his voice muffled as he moved his wet kisses towards down [Y/N]’s jaw.

She nodded, a quiet “Yes...” escaping her mouth as she closed her eyes. She allowed her head to tip, her own hair cascading down her back. She felt herself be tugged into Bucky’s lap, and she climbed over his legs so she was straddling him. [Y/N] presented her neck to Bucky, who eagerly started to suck at it. The resulting whimpers made him smirk.

Two shirts soon found their way onto the floor. [Y/N] pressed her flushed body against Bucky’s stone hard torso. She pulled away from him, drinking in the taught muscles which screamed for attention. Somewhere, in the back of [Y/N]’s mind, she thought of how amazing it would be draw him naked. That thought was quickly pushed out of her head by Bucky’s lips on hers again.

Bucky’s heart was pounding against his chest; he was sure [Y/N] could feel it under her hands. His own fingers had buried themselves in [Y/N]’s soft hips, surely leaving marks – Bucky loosened his grip, but the indignant whine that broke from [Y/N] mouth made his metal hand tighten impossibly against her. 

[Y/N] felt Bucky ground her against his tightening trousers, and she was putty in his hands. His lips moved from hers to trail down her neck, his stubble deliciously scratching against her skin. [Y/N] moved more confidently, her hips rolling back and forth. She grinned at the moans that escaped Bucky’s mouth. His hands slipped from her sides up towards her bra. He fiddled with it for a moment, before grunting in annoyance and cleanly breaking the clasp. 

“Hey-” [Y/N] grumbled indignity, her mouth falling open as Bucky left soft kisses down her chest. “That was expensive.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Bucky relapsed into silence; his face buried in what he knew to be Heaven. He kissed along her scarred skin, making sure to shower it with adoration. [Y/N] weaved her hand through Bucky’s hair, tugging it between her fingers. The groan from between her breasts made her whimper. 

Soon enough, [Y/N]’s skirt and tights were now draped over one of the benches, and Bucky’s jeans were halfway down his thighs, belt undone. The large bulge between his legs was obvious, and [Y/N] was studying it. Her hand was pressed against it, cupping and massaging, much to Bucky’s enjoyment. Bucky’s own flesh fingers were between [Y/N] legs, slowly pumping in and out with his thumb pushing her panties out of the way. [Y/N] yelped slightly when they hit a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Buck-” [Y/N] whined. “Wan’ your other hand...”

Bucky stilled his movements and grinned against [Y/N]’s neck. “You’re fucking filthy, aren’t you?” [Y/N] nodded her head silently, her own expression mischievous, and Bucky switched his hands. His metal fingers promptly tore through the lace between her thighs and delved upwards. [Y/N] gasped, the coolness of the digits creating a perfect contrast inside her. Her own hand rubbed against Bucky, and he felt his legs cramp up as he groaned.

“You better stop, Doll...” he grumbled, his fingers moving faster and faster as [Y/N]’s moans grew higher. “Or else I’m not gonna last.” 

“N-Nor am I-” [Y/N]’s mouth dropped open in an ‘O’, and Bucky grinned as he pressed his thumb against her nub, rubbing it as he felt her constrict around him. The stuttering moan that escaped her mouth and the glossy sheen on Bucky’s fingers was the only confirmation he needed.

[Y/N] panted hard, her own hand stilling between Bucky’s legs. Bucky took the advantage and kissed her hard, his tongue forcing itself between her lips. [Y/N] moaned against his mouth as Bucky lifted his hips to push down his boxers. He pulled [Y/N] closer to his chest, aligning himself with her as he spread her legs with his hand.

“Are you sure?” he whispered to her as he looked up, his face softening. “I- I can’t be gentle.”

The grin on [Y/N]’s face made Bucky’s stomach twist deliciously. “I’m sure, Bucky.” She murmured. “Just fuck me.”

Their harmonious moans filled the spacious gallery room as their bodies slid against each other. Fingers gripped flesh, hot lips pressed against jaws and sweaty chests were pressed together. Hushed, dirty whispers passed between the two as [Y/N] rode against Bucky, her lips stretched into a debauched smile. Bucky’s own mouth was desperate against his lover’s neck as he sucked dark splotches onto her skin. He pulled away with a grin and a groan, his head knocking back and his eyes closing in pleasure.

[Y/N] felt a familiar clenching in the bottom of her stomach, and let out a yelp when Bucky’s metal finger met her most sensitive spot. “I’m gonna fucking- I’m gonna-!”

Bucky enveloped her babbling with a kiss, thrusting his hips a few more times until he felt her tighten beautifully around him. With his own groan, he felt himself release, and he finally relaxed into the bench.

Panting, [Y/N] collapsed against Bucky’s sweaty chest, her eyes closing. Bucky’s hand went to her bare back, gently stroking his fingers up and down her spine. [Y/N]’s head was spinning – she couldn’t believe what she just did. Her stomach was full with butterflies. Bucky peppered soft kisses against her skin, giving special attention to her chest, before he moved to slip his shirt over her.

[Y/N] lifted herself off him, her legs shaking as she all but fell next to him. He pulled his underwear and jeans back up, leaving his belt unbuckled. 

“Sorry ‘bout your underwear, doll.” He said with a nervous smile. “I really will buy you a new set.” He paused for a second, “just as long as I get to see you in it.” [

Y/N] laughed tiredly, moving to slide her fingers into his. “Next time we get locked in a museum, right?” Bucky felt his heart fall slightly, and he nodded. He couldn’t expect anything more from her. He tugged her closer to him, pressing his lips to her sweaty hairline. He was selfish – he was going to enjoy this moment for as long as he could.

“Or…” [Y/N] peaked up at him and bit her lip. “You could take me shopping?”

His expression exposed his emotions, and Bucky grinned. “That sounds like a plan.” He nuzzled his nose against hers, and they kissed gently. They stayed like that for a while, just gently enjoying each other, until the morning sun twinkled through the stain glass windows.

At 7 A.M., the elderly security guard entered the old building with a yawn and a gulp of his coffee. The last thing he expected was to be greeted by two giggling, half naked lovers, hands clasped together as they sprinted out of the building. His mouth fell open when he saw the glint of a metal arm, but they had vanished before he could say anything.

“I am so fired,” he muttered to himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Стоп = Stop  
> Не трогай ее = Don't touch her  
> Нет = No  
> я убью тебя = I'll kill you


End file.
